


As you wish

by chronosaurus (kimnamjin)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: #HappyINDay, AU- Magical job, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Changlix happens near the end, First Meetings, Happy bday jeongin!!!!!!, I rlly like this fic...., Love at First Sight, M/M, Magical Realism, Magical!Jeongin, Magical!Seungmin, Postin smth jeongin-centric in honor of our bbs bday, Strangers to Lovers, Wish Fulfillment, as he should be, by jeongin-centric i mean he is the main character, can u tell i love designing fake office buildings, hes not in a ship, hes the star uwu, i hope it doesnt flop haha fuck, if u haven’t posted smth jeongin-themed....well..., indirect match making...but still, jeongin creates Changlix, lets just say Chan will be paying u a visit tonight, oh btw:, pls listen to that song while reading i will love u forever, supernatural match making, their office is in space lol, this AU is completely based on WJSN’s as you wish MV!, u will have to read to find out why :~), well u will if u read this ! I love writing offices fhfhfh, what a tag that is, wishes coming true
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22606522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimnamjin/pseuds/chronosaurus
Summary: Jeongin works at the Eleven Eleven Institute. The elite workshop above the clouds, where human wishes are collected and scrutinized by experts like Jeongin. Jeongin works as aStamper; his job is self explanatory. He uses his golden letter opener to slice the sealed envelope, and then he examines the letter and its wishful contents. Finally, he either stamps a blackApproved, or a redDisapproved.His job is monotonous. He doesn’t get to listen directly to human wishes, like Seungmin. And he isn’t able to grant the approved wishes with his own hands, like Hyunjin over in the Wish Fulfillment Task Force.But Jeongin’s position isn’tterrible. The free, ever-refilling pot of hazelnut coffee? Definitely a perk. The view of fluorescent galaxies and crystalline bundles of stars outside his window? Totally a perk. But the biggest perk? Knowinghe’sthe gateway between wishes coming to fruition, or being sent through the company paper shredder. Like today, when Jeongin came across two specific wish requests. Two letters, wishing for the sameexactthing, in fact. It was a first; but he’s sure stranger things have happened, at the Eleven Eleven Institute.
Relationships: Lee Felix/Seo Changbin, jeongin-centric
Comments: 29
Kudos: 198





	As you wish

**Author's Note:**

> Happy bday Jeonginnie!!! I love you, my funky little man <3 welcome to ur 20s, and I hope u have the bestest birfday and eat lotsa tasty food! U deserve it, mon petit froge uwu
> 
> Also: as mentioned in the tags, this AU is based on WJSN’s As You Wish MV! The song is amazing and the mv is so gorgeous, so I implore u to [watch it](https://youtu.be/2Q9G6R2hKIQ) before reading for some more context on this universe! But of course, I literally wrote this immediately after watching the mv one (1) time, so I took quite a few inadvertent creative liberties!

“Got a new batch for ya, ‘Innie.” 

__

Jeongin’s head snapped up at the telltale, nasally tenor of Seungmin. He forcefully shook the exhaustion from his brain, and looked up to meet his friend’s expectant gaze. 

__

Lo and behold, Seugmin is standing right next to his desk. With a—seemingly  _ endless— _ bundle of parchment envelopes cradled in his arms. Like one holds a child to their chest, like the sealed letters are something precious.

__

Although when you deal with human wishes, Jeongin supposes they are. 

__

Jeongin works at the Eleven Eleven Institute. The elite workshop above the clouds, where human wishes are collected and scrutinized by experts like Jeongin. Jeongin works as a  _ Stamper;  _ his job is self explanatory. He uses his golden letter opener to slice the sealed envelope, and then he examines the letter and its wishful contents. Finally, he either stamps a black  _ Approved _ , or a red  _ Disapproved _ . Once again, self explanatory. He rarely uses his hunter green  _ For further consideration  _ stamp, and it sits neat and pretty in its own little pot of mossy ink, collecting dust. 

__

After that, the approved wish is sent off to the  _ Wish Fulfillment Task Force— _ or WFTF—so it will be brought to fruition on earth. Jeongin (ironically) wishes  _ he _ was a member of the WFTF, not a dumb Stamper. His job is so  _ boring.  _ So monotonous! All he does is read, stamp, read, stamp—repeat. Ad infinitum. 

__

His job is admittedly tedious, but it’s equally as necessary. Arguably, Jeongin’s job as a Stamper is the most important position in the entire Institute. Jeongin is, to put it simply, the proverbial gatekeeper between wishes going down the assembly line to be made into reality. Or instead slapping them with a glaring red  _ Disapproved  _ stamp, and sending it off to the company paper shredders. Never to see the light of day.  _ Never  _ to come true.  _ Jeongin  _ decides which wishes can come to pass, and which cannot. Yet he feels no pressure; he trusts himself. He trusts his own judgement, and he  _ knows  _ he’s good at his job. Maybe even  _ too  _ good. Given the staggering amount of wish requests that end up on his desk, all waiting for examination by Jeongin’s expert gaze. 

__

Speaking of which; Jeongin whined, pitiful and squeaking from the back of his throat. At the sight of the pile of fresh wish requests clutched in Seungmin’s arms, his stomach rolled and pinched. There’s  _ so  _ many new wishes! His friend rolled his eyes at Jeongin’s dramatics, before dropping the stack of paper with a thunderous  _ thump  _ onto his spotless desk. He  _ just  _ finished sealing the final wish letter from the last mound, too! He even personally handed it off to Hyunjin, the head of the WFTF, so the granting of the wish is expedited! Can he not have one  _ full  _ minute to himself?! 

__

No, apparently. He can’t. 

__

Oh well. This  _ is  _ his job, he supposes. Not like he gets paid. Although, when you live and work in a pastel pink office building free floating among the reams of celestial stars in the galaxy, he assumes there’s no proper way to secure a means of compensation. Yes, pastel pink. You heard correctly. The stucco walls of the office building, hovering with no apparent power source in some pocket of deep space? They’re painted vibrant, peachy pink. The creamy plaster walls inside the company? Again, pastel rose. The tiled floors? Pink granite. When the light from the chandeliers hit the floor just right, the mica in the tiles sparkles, as if a sprinkling of pink stars. Jeongin’s desk? Salmon pink, with metallic gold accents. Even his name plate is rose gold. 

__

It’s a strange place, Jeongin sometimes thinks. But there are carafes of free hazelnut coffee by the window, which automatically refill without so much as brewing another pot. A cotton-candy flavored lollipop is mysteriously placed on his desk at the start of each work day, wrapped neatly in pastel parchment. It has its perks. 

__

Honestly, the view is payment enough, Jeongin admits. When he looks out the window, through the hot-pink framed panes, he is met with twinkling purple pools of cosmic beauty. Glittering stars and soaring comets, and even the stray asteroid to shoot by his floor of the office. 

__

Ultramarine and rich teal, sometimes royal purple and fiery orange, the galaxy changes color as if it has a sentient mind of its own. As if it has humanoid emotions and feelings, and shifts coloration accordingly. Right now, the billows of galactic light are vibrant cerulean blue; Jeongin can only assume that means it’s feeling relatively tranquil. As tranquil as a galaxy can feel, that is. And if Jeongin cranes his neck just right, if he shoves his nose flush against the frigid window panes and hooks his gaze off to the far left, he can even see the little blue blob that is earth. churning languidly, thousands of light years away from them. It’s nice. Peaceful. Quiet and calming. 

__

Jeongin doesn’t know what he is. What  _ they  _ are. Him and Seungmin and Hyunjin, and all their other friends at the Eleven Eleven Institute. He’s not human, that’s for sure. Once Jeongin sliced the pad of his index finger with his letter opener, and out poured streams of golden, diffused starlight. Like the beady heavenly-bodies hanging outside the window, the blood flow was gilded and beaming; until he sealed the cut with a lavender bandaid. He has become the stars that bob and weave around their glowing pink building, it seems. 

__

According to Hyunjin, they’re some median between alive and dead. Some median between human and preternatural. Not angels, and not ghosts. Not heavenly completely, but not totally spectral either. Jeongin supposes he must have been human at one point. At least  _ somewhat _ . He doesn’t know what happened to him, to  _ any  _ of them, that brought them to the Eleven Eleven Institute. He just... _ found  _ himself in his office one day. With no recollections of any life previous. He jolted, and awoke sitting in his ergonomic office chair, as if he’s  _ always  _ been there. He didn’t have time to ask questions. Because the next time he unconsciously looked down at his desk, a towering stack of letters magically appeared, as if summoned by his presence alone. 

__

And the rest, as they say, is history. But he has no complaints; his job is rewarding and meaningful, and he  _ loves  _ his friends. But the piles upon piles of human letters that get dropped on his laminate desk every ten minutes? Yeah, he wouldn’t mind if  _ that  _ took a slight dive. For his own sanity’s sake. 

__

“Don’t complain, ‘Innie. You’re on Seoul duty tonight.” Said Seungmin, with an impish set to his perpetually upturned lips. As if that chiding remark was supposed to ease Jeongin’s annoyance. And with that, he gracefully turned on his heel to return to his own post, on the floor directly below Jeongin. 

__

Seungmin is an  _ Auditor.  _ In other words, Seungmin sits with his clunky headset on all day, listening in to each and every human wish from his designated earthly region. Be it from blowing out birthday candles, praying to a shooting star, or whispering wishes as the clock strikes the titular 11:11 in their company name, Seungmin hears it  _ all.  _ As he listens, he writes and seals each specific wish in its own Institute issued envelope, until it is handed over to Jeongin for examination. Jeongin really shouldn’t complain. At least he can listen to his own  _ thoughts  _ throughout the work session; he doubts Seungmin can say the same. 

__

The door to the Stamping room shut with a soft  _ click,  _ leaving Jeongin all by his lonesome once again. Until the next delivery, that is. He’ll give it 45 minutes until Seungmin returns, lanky arms laden with crisp parchment letters. And if Jeongin strained, he’d be able to hear the soft pit-a-pat of Seungmin’s polished loafers descending the winding staircase down to the Auditing floor, before pushing through the double doors leading to his level. Seungmin is probably taking his place at his appointed listening station already. Placing his chunky headphones over his ears, and getting his pen and parchment at the ready. 

__

The wishes never stop. They never cease. It’s always someone’s birthday  _ somewhere.  _ A shooting star always flies through the night sky  _ somewhere.  _ It’s always 11:11  _ somewhere.  _ That’s why  _ they’re  _ here, after all. 

__

You know what? That would be a good company slogan;  _ it's always 11:11 somewhere.  _ Jeongin made a mental note to pitch that during the next bi-monthly meeting. But right now, he has more important things to do. 

__

Seoul duty, huh. That means Seungmin is assigned to Audit the city today. Yesterday Seungmin handed him stacks upon stacks of wish letters from Sydney, Australia. Seems like they’re heading East. Although by  _ ‘Seoul’,  _ it basically means the entire  _ country  _ of South Korea, give or take. Jeongin sighed. The night is far from over. But he supposes that when you live and work in the bowels of the obsidian universe itself, free from sunshine and the silver of the moon, the night is  _ never  _ over. It never even began in the first place. 

__

Jeongin sighed again, long suffering and heavy, and cracked his knuckles. Well, might as well start tackling the mile-high mountain of letters, before he wastes anymore time. 

__

He took the fist one between his fingers delicately, and examined the creamy, spotless parchment. The wax seal of the Eleven Eleven Institute is fastened to the flap of the envelope, keeping its proverbial jaws clamped shut. The wax  _ was  _ colored a rich navy when Jeongin first plucked the letter from the pile, but as he gave it a once-over the hue of the seal shifted. Crimson red, ubiquitous and imperial. Bright marigold yellow, like sunflower petals had been melted down to its purest of pigments. It could go on for an eternity, morphing from tint to tint, shade to shade as every color of the rainbow is ticked off. 

__

Jeongin tore the envelope open as the seal morphed from dusty lilac to ruddy burnt umber. 

__

_ I wish I get an A on my upcoming art history exam. If I do, then I’ll be exempt from the final! _

__

The inside of the letter read, verbatim. Word for word, written by Seungmin in tandem with each hushed whisper from the human themself. Jeongin hummed, his lips quirking in a smile as he finished his cursory read of the first wish from Seoul. Seems easy enough—he thinks he can grant that one. 

__

Snatching the stamp from its bed of abyssal black ink, Jeongin expertly stamped a large  _ Approved  _ on the bottom of the letter. Boxed and bold, in thick, blocky font. And with that, it is sealed back up, and moved to the other side of his desk. 

__

As he slowly but surely went through each wish letter, the dent in the stack grew larger. In fact, the stack itself grew  _ smaller,  _ and the second pile on the left of Jeongin’s desk, of stamped letters, steadily got taller. 

__

_ I wish my crush would ask me out to the winter formal.  _

__

His fifth to last letter read. Oh, young love. Jeongin slapped the bold  _ Approved  _ stamp on the empty space of the parchment, and folded the letter back up. 

__

_ I wish my mother gets better. Please, don’t let her die.  _

__

Jeongin shoved a thick gulp down his throat. He  _ hates _ wishes like these. Wishes dealing with mortality, begging for life and mercy. He let a shuddering sigh pass, before he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. 

__

The poor humans, they get so... _ desperate.  _ They plead to whatever,  _ whoever  _ may or may not even be listening, all to save someone else’s life. For all they know,  _ no one  _ is listening. It could all be in vain and yet they  _ still  _ wish with every fiber of their being, for something as  _ elemental  _ as another  _ day  _ on earth. A wish is a powerful thing—Jeongin didn't fully realize that until he began working at the Eleven Eleven Institute. Wishes mean hope, they mean that  _ maybe  _ something more powerful than you can change  _ everything.  _ Can make everything better, when you yourself simply cannot. 

__

Jeongin isn’t exactly sure if he has a heart. He’s never bothered to check, since he became a Stamper. But if the searing sting in his chest cavity means anything, he may very well have a bundle of muscle thumping away against his ribs. And it hurts. He’ll get back to you on that. 

__

It pained him almost physically to do so, but Jeongin plucked his severely under-used  _ For further consideration  _ stamp from its perch. There are rules at the Institute. Rules that a Stamper like him has to follow. And one of those hard and fast rules, is that  _ all  _ wishes for someone’s life to be saved must be sent off to the board of directors for deliberation. So they can jointly decide on the virtue of the human’s life, and if it is worth the cosmic effort to spare them. 

__

Actually, now that he thinks about it, Jeongin  _ does _ have one complaint. He would  _ really  _ like it if they changed that rule. He eyed the letter warily, as if it will suddenly grow fangs and chomp down on his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut and wildly pressed the hunter green stamp down on the parchment, as if not seeing the ink means it’s not really there. 

__

And then, Jeongin did something he rarely does.  _ He _ made a wish. 

__

He clapped his hands together twice, pressed his right index finger to the center of his forehead—to awaken his invisible 3rd eye—and sent a silent plea to the higher ups at the Institute to grant that specific wish. His skin tingled as the wish seeped from his skin, like it’s something weighty and physical. His pores glowed with there-and-gone golden light, shimmering pearlescence along the dips of his collarbones and the ridges of his knuckles. Until the wish is successfully placed, and his flesh returned to its usual milky hue. Jeongin doesn’t remember the last time he himself made a wish. Too long to recall, clearly. He’s never had the inclination to, until this very moment. After reading that very wish request. 

__

With that done, he got back to work. 

__

There’s two more letters now. He already approved one for securing tickets to an idol group’s concert, and disapproved one that wished for the... _ untimely  _ death of their grandfather, so as to reap the inheritance money. Disgusting, if you ask Jeongin, to use something as potent and sacred as a wish for something so cruel and greedy. Suffice it to say, wishing for someone’s  _ death  _ is usually a one-way ticket to a big, fat  _ Disapproved  _ stamp. When will humans learn? 

__

Jeongin grabbed the 2nd to last letter, and sliced the flap open with one fluid movement. 

__

_ I wish I won’t be alone anymore.  _

__

That’s all it said. Jeongin quirked a brow; that’s a new one. He’s seen wish requests for  _ this  _ person to ask them out, or for  _ that  _ old flame to reconnect with them under otherwise mysterious circumstances. He’s seen wishes for a marriage proposal, or for a relationship on the tipping point of breaking to be reconciled. But a wish for plain ol’  _ companionship  _ itself? That took Jeongin aback. This human must be pretty lonely, for them to wish for something so intrinsic. Something Jeongin assumed was a  _ given  _ down on earth.

__

Without a second thought, Jeongin stamped the huge  _ Approved  _ brand on the paper and slipped it atop his pile of finished letters. 

__

Luckily this mile-high stack of requests was pretty straightforward, equaling an unending torrent of  _ Approved, Approved, Approved.  _

__

Last one! Jeongin can’t believe his eyes! He looked outside the window; the constellation of Pegasus is beaming at him from the frigid depths of space. He must have been working through this pile for a  _ while.  _ After this, he’s going to reward himself with a  _ towering  _ mug of magically-refilling hazelnut coffee. With two packets of sugar, because he  _ earned _ it. So with movements that border on too giddy—verging on  _ manic— _ Jeongin severed the ever-changing wax seal in two, and pulled out the letter from within. 

__

_ I wish I won’t be alone anymore.  _

__

Jeongin’s brows furrowed. They scrunched up on his forehead until deep peaks and valleys made residence in the flesh. 

__

He did a double take. Jerking and wild. He scrubbed large hands down his features, as if attempting to wake himself up from a pit stop in sleep. He slapped his cheeks, he pinched the fleshy junction between his elbow and his forearm. He rubbed his eyes until his vision swam with abstract white. Nope, he’s awake. Yup, he’s not seeing things. The last letter on his pile is the  _ exact  _ same wish as the one he just finished approving! What in Andromeda is going on!

__

Just to make absolutely  _ sure  _ he’s not going bonkers—from overworking, of course—Jeongin frantically snatched the last letter off the  _ done  _ pile, and ruined his hard work by wrenching it back out of the re-sealed envelope. 

__

“Wow,” Jeongin mumbled, awestruck. They’re the  _ exact  _ same! Down to the syntax and all!  _ And  _ back to back to each other! What are the odds?! There’s a first time for everything, and this is  _ definitely  _ one of those instances. There’s no way it’s the same person’s wish; every human gets their  _ own _ personal letter, with all their wishes—however many there may be—written on the creamy paper. Seungmin makes  _ sure  _ of that, so there are no duplicates or repeats to stop up the wish-granting process. 

__

That means these are two separate wishes, from two  _ separate people.  _ That wished for the same thing. In the same city. At the same time. 

__

Jeongin’s dumbstruck expression quickly melted, as his unhinged jaw reshut. Now, there’s a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. Now, he cocked a brow, as the perfect idea struck him over the head like a mallet.

__

Jeongin’s stupefaction turned to molten glee, just as quickly as the shock had appeared. 

__

He marked the last letter with an  _ Approved  _ stamp, mimicking the placement of its twin, and re-sealed both letters. He feels...light. Light _ er.  _ When you work at the Institute, the sensation of invisible dove feathers keeping you aloft comes with the territory. But Jeongin feels refreshed, after finishing the once insurmountable stack of wish requests. But maybe, the newfound spring in his step is thanks to two specific letters. Maybe. Jeongin won’t admit to anything. 

__

With some slightly awkward maneuvering on Jeongin’s part, he gently scooped the tower of finished letters into his arms. The heap teetered in his arms, wiggling to the right and then back to the left as if  _ purposefully  _ trying to give Jeongin an apoplexy attack. Until he successfully righted the mound of envelopes in his arms, that is. Tricky little things, those wishes are. The aggravation is well worth it, however. Because rather than waiting for the mail carts to come by later on, Jeongin wants to deliver the pile to Hyunjin in the Wish Fulfilment Task Force personally. 

__

How  _ does  _ Hyunjin so expertly bring human wishes into reality, you ask? Well, Jeongin doesn't really... _ know,  _ for certain. Hyunjin scribbles down some notes in his chicken scrawl writing, gracefully waves his hands around, pulls some strings—literally, there  _ are  _ strings to be pulled—and voila! In 1-2 business days, your wish will be granted! Jeongin sighed, verging on wistfully. He wishes  _ his  _ job had that kind of excitement. 

__

Speaking of which, the single  _ Disapproved  _ letter, and the one deemed for further inspection are still laid out neatly on Jeongin’s now sparse desk. In spite of them sitting prim on the same slab of pink linoleum, they’re each set to embark on two completely different journeys. The disapproved letter is going on a one-way vacation to an industrial paper shredder. End of story. The  _ For further consideration _ request, however, has a bit of a long road ahead of it. Jeongin tried his hardest not to think about it. Whatever is nestled behind his ribs still aches at the vaguest thought, however. Maybe he  _ does  _ have a heart. 

__

As he padded through the spotless pink workroom, alight with sconces of cottony brilliance and crystal chandeliers and sky-blue potted plants, Jeongin quickly found himself at the grand archway marked  _ Wish Fulfilment Task Force HQ.  _ In perfect, elegant, hammered gold signage. Each letter is outlined with a set of Edison bulbs, reflecting off the metalwork like a newfangled constellation.  _ His  _ station doesn’t have such a grandiose entranceway, but he kept his envy at bay. 

__

And maybe, he made a mental note to ask his friend to grant the two matching wishes first. Rushed shipping, if you will. 

__

He has a feeling those two humans down in Seoul could use each other. And  _ soon _ . 

_**  
  
  
** _

ଘ( ੭ˊ꒳ˋ) ੭✧

_****  
  
  
_

Changbin slipped through the heavy oak door, the familiar jingling of the tarnished bells hanging above the frame greeting him with off-key resonance. The heady scent of coffee hit him like a brick wall, and lo-fi hip hop tunes flowing from the staticy speakers embraced him like a hug. 

__

The cafe is all but deserted, save for a single figure sitting daintily at a table in the corner, by the window. A table for two, Changbin realized with a shockwave of heat stampeding down his body.

__

He’s a boy, no older than twenty. His hair is dirty blonde and artfully mussed, as if loving hands carded through the golden strands before he arrived at the cafe. His expression is downcast, gazing at the phone held in his hands. But Changbin can still see how  _ beautiful  _ he is. Even at this distance. Even with his features bathed in harsh, artificial blue light. His brows are thick and sculpted, his lips plump and glossed, his button nose just about the most kissable thing Changbin’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing. 

__

There’s an air about the boy; something about the pull of his brows and the firm set to his angular jaw. It’s unexplainable, but he looks...lonesome. He looks like he could use some company. Changbin might even say the kid looks  _ homesick,  _ if he weren’t so blinded by sheer reverence. 

__

Changbin’s heart thrashed against his ribs, the wild kind of beating that under different circumstances may be the first signs of a premature heart attack. But Changbin’s still standing, albeit his knees are distinctly weaker. He’s barely standing, to be completely accurate. 

__

He’s been frequenting this specific cafe for  _ months.  _ Almost a year, in fact, since he first moved to Seoul. He’s seen just about every face to pass through the exposed brick walls, and he’s  _ never  _ seen this boy before. Why hasn’t he seen this boy before, exactly? He  _ really  _ wants to know. 

__

But with that, Changbin spurred his brain into some form of working order, and strode up to the counter to place his order. The same as always; iced americano. Double shot, light on the ice. 

__

There’s a voice nagging at the back of his head, as he took his card back from the barista and slipped it back into his wallet.  _ Sit with him,  _ it keeps saying, on loop as if his brain is a record with no shortage of scratches.  _ Sit with him!  _ that same niggling voice in his brain ordered, stronger this time. Louder. Unstoppable, with no signs of ending. 

__

The cafe is empty, except for Changbin and the gorgeous boy in the corner. There are copious amounts of free tables, stools, booths, _ anything.  _ Changbin can sit anywhere he wants. 

__

And he did just that.

__

As the boy got closer, with each tentative step Changbin took, his elegant features came more and more into focus. His eyelids are painted dusty, pastel pink. There’s a smattering of auburn freckles fanning his cheeks and the delicate bridge of his nose. The sunspots appear as if the very galaxy itself descended to take heavenly residence on his olive skin. 

__

Changbin’s heart pounded. He thinks he might be in love.

__

“Excuse me,” Changbin croaked, his voice gravelly and rasping from the measly hours of sleep he grasped last night. And from a severe lack of coffee. 

__

The kid’s head flew up, his eyes instantly meeting Changbin’s. Sparkly. His eyes are so sparkly, even more than the sun reflecting off the sea. Even more than the stars. Changbin is in love. 

__

“Yes?” Said the beautiful boy, and his voice is a  _ much _ deeper timbre than Changbin ever could have imagined. His knees buckled, but he did everything in his power to keep himself steady. Or standing. Preferably, both. 

__

“Um,” Changbin mumbled, as intelligently as ever. He’s still reeling from the cavernous quality of the boy’s voice, cut him some slack! “Is this seat taken?” 

__

He gestured at the empty seat opposite the boy, and his heart started to race. Even more than it had been previously. 

__

The boy’s unreadable expression instantly shifted; his eyes widened, shooting beams of diamond light straight into Changbin’s heart. His lips burst into a wide, cheek-splitting grin. Changbin’s own cheeks ached, as if in reaction to the sheer joy contained in the boy’s smile before him. As if they are one.

__

“No, no it’s not! Please, take a seat.” 

__

Changbin didn’t need to be told twice, as he pulled the chair out from under the table before sinking down to face the boy. 

__

Changbin’s lips quirked into a smile, matching the blonde boy’s in luminance. Their cheeks flushed equally similar shades of peachy pink, as they bounced starlight between their eyes. Changbin is beginning to think pink might be his favorite color. 

__

“Thank you. F-for sitting with me, I mean. I’m new to Seoul, and I was,” the boy began, that deep tenor sending chills down Changbin’s spine. “Lonely.” He said, candidly. Almost  _ painfully  _ candid, if you asked Changbin. 

__

“Very, very lonely.” 

__

The words smacked him like a pair of lead hammers, one finding the center of Changbin’s chest and the other dizzying his head. He doesn’t have enough mental energy left to tell the other boy just how much he understands the feeling. 

__

Changbin wanted to cry, because  _ he  _ was once new to Seoul as well. He felt white-hot fists of emotion pummel his heart, because he was lonely too. Maybe he still is. So lonely, in fact, that he  _ wished  _ for it to end. Maybe—

__

“I’m Changbin, it’s lovely to meet you,” 

__

“Felix.” The boy quickly supplied.  _ Felix.  _ Changbin likes that name. It’s a good name. A pretty name. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Changbin.” Felix tacked on the back-end of his introduction, and Changbin has a feeling he means every word. Changbin was  _ so _ lonely. But maybe now he’s not. 

__

Changbin has never seen Felix at the cafe ever before; what are the odds they'd meet under such perfect circumstances? It's like fate. Like destiny. Like something vaguely unnatural.

__

It's almost as if them eventually coming together was planned. Like it was factory made, and fresh off the conveyor belt. Shiny and new, and beautiful. 

__

Changbin felt like an idiot when he clasped his hands together at 11:11 p.m. the night before, sent his gaze up to the moon through his window, and begged the air around him to make the loneliness  _ stop.  _ To send  _ someone  _ his way, to fill up the gaping hole in his heart. A missing puzzle piece, a silhouette with a mop of dirty blonde hair and freckles and dusty pink smeared across his eyelids. And as he stared into Felix’s sparkling eyes, as he met his smile and matched its brilliance, Changbin felt less like a fool. He feels  _ blessed.  _ And lucky.

__

In fact, he’s beginning to think his wish came true _. _

**Author's Note:**

> If u enjoyed, please let me know with a kudo/comment !! Hopefully this was sufficient as a Jeongin bday special ;; 
> 
> Support is extremely appreciated <3 #INcredibleMaknaeDay


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